Advice on Sex but good heavens, don't take it!
by luvscharlie
Summary: When their first bout of lovemaking doesn't go as Hermione expects, Ron sets out to make things right, with a little advice from a brother whose reputation with the ladies is legendary. Ron/Hermione, Charlie/Viktor


Advice on Sex (but good heavens, don't take it!)

by Luvscharlie

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Warnings: Smut, References to Charlie-the-Sex-God ('cause he is), intentional changes in POV

_A/N: Originally written for the 2010 rhr_smutfest fest on Live Journal, a fest that is set up to focus on giving Ron/Hermione the canon love they deserve. My recipient requested second times improving on first, nothing too extreme and a side pairing of Charlie/Viktor. I've never had so much trouble writing a fic, but honestly, I loved the way this turned out. I hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed my ultimate creation._

* * *

Hermione lay in the bed at Grimmauld Place, sticky and sweaty, and a bit achy as she listened to Ron snore beside her. And she was left wondering what in the hell just happened. Seriously? That was it? _That_ was what all those love poems and songs and nonsense had all been leading up to? Granted, Ron seemed to enjoy himself… for all of five minutes (and she was being generous in her rounding up… very generous).

Surely this wasn't how first times were supposed to be. There were all those stories of seeing fireworks and the earth moving and—and—well, this just couldn't be it. Could it? No, surely not.

So, when her world went off kilter, Hermione did what came naturally. She fell back and regrouped with mental lists to try and figure out where things had gone wrong. One could never go wrong with list making. It had worked back during school days, and though the subject matter was a bit different now, she supposed that the rationale behind the thinking transferred nicely.

Hermione had always heard that sexual encounters were what it was all about—the stuff that fantasies were made of, earth-shattering, and all that rot if you saved yourself for the love of your life. Check. She'd done that. If _that_ last generous five minutes was what would be considered better, she would have hated to experience a first time with some random stranger. Well, that was perhaps a little harsh. It wasn't _horrible_. It just wasn't what she'd expected. And boy, was it ever fast.

Most of those stories she'd heard as a young girl had mentioned flowers. Well, there had been cut flowers from the back garden on the kitchen table. She'd put them there just that morning in an attempt to pretty up their new home. Grimmauld Place was so dreary, but Hermione had been ever so happy to move in here with Harry and Ron. Now, grant it, they hadn't had sex on the kitchen table, but she thought flowers being in the house was probably good enough to meet the requirement, so she felt justified in giving that a mental check as well.

She was continuing down her checklist when Ron snorted in his sleep, rolled over and threw an arm across her chest, so that breathing became difficult.

A perfect ending to a perfectly mediocre evening… and she'd followed the rules for making this far better than mediocre. She hated it when things did not go as planned. Where had things gone wrong?

She fell into a troubled sleep, her mind still attempting to wrap itself around the disappointment of first time sex that was… well, less than firework-inducing and at best a little snore-worthy.

* * *

The next morning Ron came into the kitchen stretching and yawning, with a smile that spread from ear to ear. Hermione was standing at the coffee pot and nearly dropped her mug in surprise when he looked at her and said with a wink, "Last night was bloody brilliant, wasn't it?"

_Brilliant?_ "… um …"

"Wasn't it?" A look of doubt, or perhaps fear, crossed over Ron's face, and she instantly felt bad about not having an adequate answer. She didn't want to lie—after all, if he thought things were perfect now, it would never improve. Right?

She started again. "… er …"

"It was good, right?" It was clear from his tone that Ron's desperation was becoming more urgent.

No answer.

"Oh no. Oh God. Kill me now."

Hermione jumped into reassurance mode just a bit too late. "No, no. It was fine."

"Fine? Fine? Seriously? It was fine?"

"Um, good. It was good. Yes, that's what I meant. It was good. Nice. It was nice," Hermione stammered.

"Nice? Nice is what your mother says when you make her a ridiculous card for her birthday—'Oh dear, that's nice.' Not what your girl says after sex—Oh, I don't feel so good. Not good at all." Ron grabbed hold of the table and plopped down in a chair beside it, then dropped his head and rested it in his hands so that he didn't have to meet her eyes.

"Ron, that's really not what I meant."

"Oh, it's what you meant all right. You're just far too nice to say it, 'cause you think it will crush my pride… which now that you mention it…"

Hermione rushed toward Ron in an attempt to mend the fragile part of him she feared she had broken. She wanted the sex to get steamier, hotter, better, and at this rate all she was going to accomplish was making the sex nonexistent or giving him serious performance anxiety. She rubbed her hand consolingly across his upper back. "I think we just need some practise. That's all it is. I'm sure practise will make a world of difference. Then the sex won't be so ba—I mean… Oh, I'm really not helping this at all, am I?"

Ron just groaned.

* * *

That entire day, Ron was a veritable bear to be around at work. He kicked things in his office and shredded an interoffice memorandum aeroplane that had the audacity to poke him in the ear to get his attention. It hadn't escaped his notice that all the other trainees in the Auror Department were avoiding him; he simply didn't care.

Then, when a rubbish bin dared to get in his way, and he sent it sailing across the office with his foot, Harry stepped up, in an attempt to be the voice of reason… sort of.

"I think you killed it," he said, looking down at the overturned bin with a big dent in the side of it.

"Shut it," Ron growled.

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure it's dead. Shame too."

Groaning, Ron gave Harry a look. "Why's that?"

"'Cause now you get to go explain to Helen the Horrible in the Office Supplies Department why we need a new rubbish bin. You've met Helen, right? About yay-big," Harry said, putting his hand at waist height, "with a demeanor that makes Voldemort look like a big fluffy kitty-cat."

"Fuck," Ron cursed, and turned the bin back over, because yes, in fact, he had met Helen, and he was fairly certain that if she'd faced down Voldemort a couple of years back during the war, things would have ended after one of her glacial stares. "Look, see. It's fine." The bin gave a sad sounding belch and regurgitated a stream of papers.

"A bin that now regurgitates? In the Auror Department? Do you really think that Hestia is going to agree to that?"

Ron threw himself down in the chair behind his desk. "Not sure why Shacklebolt went and made her Head of the Department anyway," Ron grumbled. At this point, he wasn't even sure why he was grumbling. He actually liked Hestia and knew she was qualified for the job.

Harry smiled and sat on the corner of the desk and looked down at Ron, pushing his glasses back up his nose in a familiar way. "So you want to tell me what's really bothering you now?"

"Not really."

"Well, you could always kill a few more rubbish bins. You know, if you're already going to have to face Helen, might as well make the trip worth it, yeah?"

Ron pulled a face.

"Come on, mate," Harry said. "Just tell me what's troubling you."

"I want to. I mean, I guess I want to tell somebody. But you can't laugh and you can't tell another soul."

"All right."

Ron started to speak and found the words simply refused to leave his tongue. "Mate, are you certain you want to hear this?" He looked around furtively, then leaned in closer to Harry so that his whispers could be heard... but by Harry only. "It's about _you know_."

"I know what?" Harry's nose snarled up in an expression of total bafflement. "Are you barking?"

Rolling his eyes, Ron leaned forward again, his voice still little more than a whisper. "It's about _you know_ S-E-X."

"You know, I can't hear a word your saying. Could you speak up?"

"OH FOR THE LOVE OF MERLIN, HARRY, I'M TRYING TO TALK TO YOU ABOUT SEX!"

And of course, that was the moment the Department was quiet enough that you could have heard a pin drop, so that everyone in the Department turned to face Ron as his cheeks heated up and his ears began to burn.

_Blimey, what a day!_

* * *

Hermione spent her lunch hour that day in Muggle London going through book shop after book shop and looking through books that might give her ideas on ways to restore Ron's rather fragile ego, and at the same time not overinflate it to the degree that their sex life remained in such a sorry state.

Because deep down she wanted it all. The girlish fantasies of fireworks and sweat and moaning and—well, some of those were clearly more in the way of teenage thoughts and desires, but still… she wanted it. Every single, wonderful (well it must be wonderful when done correctly, or else there wouldn't be so much emphasis put on it, right?) little bit of it. She wanted it all.

And for once in her life, her books simply failed her. Oh, there were dozens of rubbish articles in magazines and books about ways to "snag a man" or "50 ways to put the spark back into your relationship" or "how to cheat without your partner finding out". Nothing but rubbish! And nothing that seemed to fit her situation.

And if a book couldn't advise her, well, she was left at a loss for what to do.

* * *

Ron was doing a bit of mental list making of his own. After his rather embarrassing outburst at the Ministry, he decided that talking to Harry about this was simply out of the question. Sure, they were best mates, but this was Hermione he was talking about, and Harry was her mate too. Even worse, what if after he "over-shared," Harry decided to follow suit and talk about Ginny that way, and ugh, just the thought of it was disgusting. And he didn't much fancy having to knock out his best mate, and if Harry talked about Ginny that way—well, the Big Brother Code would demand that Ron deck him.

Of course, one thing about living in a family that was Weasley-sized was that there were always people to talk to, when best mates seemed like a bad choice. A time just like this.

Ron could go and seek advice from Bill. Bill was certainly knowledgeable about the ladies. He'd married a Veela after all, and that took some finesse. Ron shook his head almost immediately after having that thought. The last time he'd gone to Shell Cottage, he'd somehow ended up with babysitting duty. Damn Fleur and her Veela charms. He was certain she had used them to her benefit because one minute he was simply sipping his Firewhisky, and the next he was being hugged for agreeing to take Victoire for the night. Whatever happened in between was a complete fog. And after spending a night with his niece, (have you any idea how many different ends that little beast can spew from?)—yeah, scratch Bill off the list. No amount of advice was worth a night with the little ankle biter. She was cute enough, but he had his own share of problems.

Ron couldn't talk to Ginny because of course she was a virgin. A complete _virgin_ and there was nothing in this world that would make his brain accept anything to the contrary. He liked living in denial. Sometimes it was the safest place for his brain to reside, right there in that safe little cocoon where it did not happen, will never happen, and life is just as it should be. Thus, scratching Ginny from the list wouldn't be necessary, since she'd never even been on a list of people to go to for sex advice. NEVER.

Ron thought that he could talk to George, but that would have to be a last resort. After all, George would probably give him totally wrong advice just so he could laugh his bloody arse off when Ron took it seriously and really did things wrong. Of course, that might make George smile, which would almost be worth it, if this weren't so serious. His virility was at stake after all… and that really shouldn't be played about with. Thus, George's name was removed from his mental list of possible advisors.

That left, among family members, Percy, Charlie and his parents to choose from. This simply wasn't something one talked to their parents about. What would they know about sex anyway, right? Parents only did _that_ to have babies. Not for any kind of enjoyment. And yes, that was a completely juvenile and unrealistic way to look at things, but these were his parents, and he preferred acting like a child to thinking of his mother naked and–just gross. That was just—no, totally out of the question. Mothers did _not_ enjoy sex. It was against the Mother Law or something.

And Percy—who would seek out Percy for sex advice? Even worse, what if he was actually better at it than Ron thought? He didn't think his ego could withstand discovering that Percy was better at sex than him. It was _Percy_! If Percy was better at sex, then he simply did not want to know about it. His barely-hanging-in-there ego would just give up and shatter at that bit of knowledge.

Thus, his little list of possible sexual advisors was whittled down to one: Charlie.

Of course, the more Ron thought about it, the better an idea it seemed. Charlie had a rather legendary reputation for success with the ladies. So maybe Charlie could tell him what he was doing wrong. And Charlie was all the way in Romania so if it started with a good deal of laughter at Ron's expense, there was nobody there to hear.

He was somewhat buoyed at having a plan. All was not lost if a plan was in place… he shook his head and thought he had been around Hermione too long when plans became that important to him.

* * *

Ron had a plan and putting it into motion sooner, rather than later, was definitely his preference.

Ron applied for an International Portkey right away. There were some perks to being the best friend of the Boy Who Lived. It certainly got you an audience with the Minister in short order. Minister Shacklebolt agreed to meet with him that very afternoon, and was most agreeable to granting him a weekend visit to see his brother on the Romanian Dragon Reserve. He even gave Ron some official forms to deliver while he was there, so that Ron was perfectly justified in telling Hermione this was a special assignment from Minister Shacklebolt, himself, to explain why he'd be gone for a few days.

* * *

Things were tense at home for the next couple of days, to put it mildly. Ron and Hermione were both doing their fair share of tiptoeing around one another, and Ron thought he noted a bit of relief register on Hermione's face when she discovered he was going to be away. He couldn't fault her for it; he felt somewhat relieved himself. He was confident that he would come back from Romania with all the answers he sought. He just had to… After all, Charlie hadn't gained the reputation of ladies man for no reason…

…or so Ron thought.

* * *

Finally, Friday arrived and with it an International Portkey…

Ron arrived in Romania and wondered a bit belatedly if he should have sent Charlie an owl letting him know he was coming… but Charlie was family, and family had to take you in, right?

Well, he hoped so because it was really hot in Romania this time of year, and he was rather pants at Cooling Charms, and his Portkey would only activate when it was time for him to return home. So… family had to take you in.

Ron entered the Romanian Dragon Reserve with the parchments that Minister Shacklebolt had prepared for him and was told that Charlie was out working, but it shouldn't be much longer. He was pointed toward Charlie's tent and trudged his way there. Ron called out but received no reply at the doorway. He reminded himself that this was his brother, and what harm could there be in just going on in and waiting? He wanted out of the hot sun and it didn't take long to convince himself to go in and once inside out of the heat of the sun, he felt his eyelids grow heavy. International Portkey travelling was exhausting. They were brothers after all, what would a little nap hurt? He certainly wouldn't mind if Charlie came to his flat and rested on his bed… well, as long as Hermione wasn't in it. That would never do. Not with a reputation like Charlie's.

Ron toed off his shoes and undressed down to his pants then slipped beneath the sheets and was asleep in a matter of moments.

* * *

"Here already? I wasn't expecting you until later tonight."

It was Charlie's voice, and Ron, who was typically slow to rouse, had no time to process anything else.

"Can't say I'm sorry you came early though. We'll be able to have a shag before going down to the pub tonight." And with those words Charlie was pressed up against his back with an unmistakable hard on.

"AAARRGGHHH!" Ron sprang from the bed, shoving aside tangled sheets in the process. "What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?"

Charlie just looked stunned for a moment. "What am I doing? I'm getting in _my_ bed. What the hell are you even doing in this country?"

_Okay, that was a fair question._ But still. Eww! "I was having a kip."

"In Romania? You couldn't have a kip back in jolly old London?" Charlie's voice rose with every word.

"What? A bloke can't come to visit his brother?" Ron said defensively, and then added, "without getting the lurgee?" _What was it about older brothers that made you revert back to insults you used as a five year old?_

"And you couldn't have sent an owl first? Sorry, little brother, but typically the people who are in waiting to surprise me in bed, aren't family members, you know?" Charlie retorted with a sly wink.

"Well—well—well, I was tired," Ron stammered. "Besides, you should have been able to tell that it wasn't a bird beneath those sheets. Most the birds you pull this tall, then?" The fact that Charlie was used to having women waiting in his bed reinforced Ron's belief that he had certainly picked the right brother to come to for his dilemma.

Charlie just gave him an uncomfortable half-smile and changed the subject. "So is there a purpose for this visit?" He hurriedly added, "Not that it's not good to see you. I'd just rather not see so much of you." Charlie motioned at Ron's state of undress. "Your being in my bed was just a… surprise, that's all."

"I'll say," Ron mumbled reaching for his trousers as he pulled his shirt over his head. "A bloke can't just miss his brother."

Charlie smiled. "Fine. You can tell me later. I'm starving, besides I'm planning to meet someone at the pub."

* * *

The pub Charlie took him too was buzzing with business. And it seemed Charlie knew everyone there. When they walked in, the barkeep gave Charlie a yell and a wave… and was that a wink? Surely not. Ron rubbed his eyes convinced something must have been lodged in one of them. Or maybe they just did things differently over here in Romania… or something. That must be it. Going with that logic, Ron gave the next bloke that passed him a wink rather than a wave and near jumped out of his skin when the fellow patted his arse on the way by.

"Making friends there, Ron?" Charlie asked with a smirk.

"What? I just followed your lead!"

Charlie led him to a table still chuckling and ordered a pitcher, taking a seat across from Ron. Ron liked it here. The atmosphere was relaxed, if you could get past the strange blokes, and it was nice to be somewhere that the only person he knew was his brother. It was… a nice change. Things were never like this when he went out with Harry. Everyone knew who Harry was, and most people weren't polite enough to leave him alone. Maybe it was all of Charlie's scars or perhaps the tattoos that caused people to keep their distance. Or maybe the Romanian people simply had better manners… (you know, besides that arse grabbing thing) but whatever, Ron was grateful for the solitude.

Ron was halfway through his second glass of Firewhisky, and feeling a bit more fortified, and Charlie was starting a third when the conversation could no longer be avoided.

"Had enough to loosen your tongue yet, little brother?" Charlie asked, looking at him from over the rim of his glass and wiping the back of his hand across his mouth.

"I could use another, I think," Ron replied.

"That bad, then?" Charlie raised his eyebrow in question. "Seems odd that you'd come to me for a talk about—well whatever it is you want to talk about—rather than Harry."

"I can't talk to Harry about this. It'd be too weird. And gross. And I already tried and it didn't go so well. And he's my best mate and I don't fancy the idea of decking him one."

Raising his eyebrow a bit farther than Ron thought possible, a smirk crossed Charlie's face. "Is that a warning that you plan to tell me something and then try and clock me one? 'Cause I'd hate to hit you back, Ronnie, but be assured you'll feel it if I do. Maybe you want to reconsider discussing your problem with Harry. He's a wiry one, but I think you can take him. The worst I think he'd give you would be a black eye… or a shot to the bollocks if he fights dirty. I'd put you in the infirmary," Charlie said with a confidence that Ron found annoying. It was true… but annoying nonetheless.

Charlie cracked his knuckles for effect and Ron considered kicking him beneath the table for being an over-confident, pompous, prat of a brother. "Such a serious face, Ron. I'm just having you on. You must admit though, it is a little odd that you'd come so far when you share a house with your best mates. Can't you talk to Harry or Hermione about this?"

"It's about girls," Ron said, mumbling the words and feeling his face heat up with blush. "Well, not girl**s**. It's about a girl, and if I talk to Harry about Hermione and—well, you know… _that_, then he might want to share back and that'd be about Ginny and then I'd—"

"Have to beat on him," Charlie finished the sentence for him. "Okay, yeah, that makes a bit of sense." Shuddering and shaking his head, Charlie took a large gulp of Firewhisky and signalled for another pitcher.

"It'd be a brother's job to beat on the guy who's shagging his baby sister, right?" Ron asked.

Charlie held up his hands and waved them as though to ward off Ron's words. "Shush. We can talk, but you have to promise not to use the words 'shagging' and 'sister' in the same sentence again, okay? She's only a wee little thing, couldn't be more than twelve or so, and I—" Shuddering again, Charlie looked at Ron pointedly, "Do we have an agreement?"

"Um… I guess. I really didn't come here to talk to you about Harry shagging-"

"Nnnnnngggghhhh," Charlie interrupted raising a finger to ward off Ron's words.

"Okay, okay. Look, Ginny wasn't the reason I came to see you anyway. Calm down. It's just I needed someone to talk to about well, you know, _things_."

"Things? What kind of things?"

At that moment Ron hated Charlie for making him say it. He knew bloody well what things. Why was he playing coy? He took a deep breath and said it all in one breath. "Hermione and I did things, and I don't think she liked it very much, and I want it to be better and her to like it more, and I need you to tell me how to do it." He gulped to replenish his supply of oxygen. "So there. That's what I need your help with."

Charlie offered him no advice right away. Instead he countered rather oddly. "You know, maybe you should talk to Bill about this. Maybe he'd be the better—"

"What are you talking about?" Ron broke in. "Everybody knows you're ace with the birds. Women love you."

"Yeah, well I'm a charming bloke. Everyone loves me. They can't help themselves."

"That's not what I mean, and you bloody well know it. I mean, I've heard about your reputation. Birds _love_ you. Love to be with you. Want to be with you. Knock each other about in order to be the first to get a piece of you." His ears were heating up to the degree Ron thought they might just burn away and separate from his head, but this was for Hermione… it was important... so he surged on. "So tell me what I'm doing wrong. What am I supposed to do to make Hermione, you know—" his voice lowered to a mere whisper –"like it?"

Charlie pulled a sympathetic face and leaned forward. "What'd she say that makes you think it was bad? Maybe it's all in your head."

"Oh come on, Charlie. I didn't come all this way without knowing what I'm talking about. She said it was 'nice'."

"Ouch."

"Yeah. Nice. I don't want it to be nice. I want it to be perfect, you know?" Ron thumped his hands down on the table. "I mean I thought it was brilliant, but I guess I was the only one. Was it like that for you—I mean your first time with a girl—was it like that?"

"Look, Ron, I want to say something that's going to make you feel better, but—"

"No," Ron said, his voice filled with agony and dropped his face into his hands. "No! I knew this only happened to me. God, why do things like this always happen to me? Your first time was probably brilliant. Girl was probably begging for more. Why couldn't that be me? No, my first time was 'nice'—nice and dull and—"

"Ron," Charlie attempted to interrupt.

"—and terrible and no way I'm going to keep a bird like Hermione interested with 'nice' shagging—"

"Ron," Charlie tried again to gain his little brother's attention.

"And what's the point of having so many bloody brothers if they can't help out with things like this? A reputation for pulling every bird in the room and you won't even help me out and—"

"Ron, I'm gay."

"—even to keep the girl of my—Whuh?" Ron looked up and met Charlie's lopsided smirk. "What'd you say?"

"I said I'm gay."

"Oh, very funny, Charlie. I didn't come here to be lied to or mocked or laughed at—you know, I could get all of that at home from any brother of my choosing. Hell, I should have gone to Percy."

"For sex advice? Oh, that's rich." Snorting, Charlie took another gulp. "Not having you on, mate. I've never been with a bird. So I'm not much good in the advice department, I guess, but even I'll be more help than Percy."

"So you're not good in bed either?"

"Oi! Watch your tongue," Charlie spluttered. "I'll have you know I'm very good in bed—excellent even—a real coup of a pull, if you will. Just with blokes, not birds."

"But all those rumours. All those stories I've heard for years about you and birds and—"

"And you should know not to put too much weight on rumours," Charlie said. "Of course, I'm glad to know they worked as well as Bill and Tonks, bless them, always said they would."

"Wait, Bill knows your gay?"

"'Course he does. So did Tonks."

Ron thought this over, and the realisation came to him that perhaps he was the only family member who didn't know Charlie's sexual orientation, and he found that to be rather hurtful. "Does everyone else know?"

"No, only a few people."

"But why?"

"The same reason Bill started those rumours back during our days at Hogwarts. There aren't very many doors open for gay men in the wizarding world. It would have affected my career, my choices and my family. I chose not to let that happen. And Bill and Tonks were only too eager to help. Tonks and I pretended to date, and then Tonks told everyone how great I was in bed, and then no one else wanted to be outdone. Birds are strange, mate. So strange. Anyway, after Tonks, Lucy McMillan told all the Ravenclaw girls in our year how she and I had a round up in the Owlery. Funny thing, I don't think I ever even talked to Lucy McMillan… but still… it worked… and the rumours just kept going from there."

"That hardly seems fair," Ron said. "Having to hide who you are, I mean. Being gay doesn't make you an inferior dragon keeper, does it?"

"Clearly not, since I'm the best one on this Reserve."

"Doesn't make you any less full of yourself either, I see."

Charlie smiled. "Not hardly."

Ron wasn't sure what the protocol was now. Did he ask about Charlie's love life? Did he steer clear? Was this one of those things that people just didn't talk about? This was clearly something that Charlie wasn't telling everyone, since only Bill knew… and now him. That was rather nice, to be included. He had no basis upon which to rely, so he sat back and let Charlie do the talking… it was a great plan, except Charlie wasn't saying anything.

"So," Ron fumbled for words, "are you seeing someone?"

"Yeah."

_One word answer. Great._ Any other time, Charlie wouldn't shut up. Now he was forcing Ron into leading more uncomfortable chit-chat. Thank Merlin for distractions; a dark head that Ron recognised, and not pleasantly, had just walked through the door of the pub. "Bloody hell, what's _he_ doing here?" Ron said. "That's Viktor sodding Krum."

"Finally," Charlie replied, making Ron's mouth fall open.

"Finally? You mean you were expecting _him_?"

Charlie looked down at his wristwatch. "Yeah, about fifteen minutes ago. Really, he needs to work on his punctuality. His coach lets him get by with far too much. Mr. Big Star Quidditch Player never has to be on time."

And the realisation that this—Viktor Fucking Krum—was Charlie's love interest hit Ron hard. "Him? Why does it always have to be him? I just _hate_ him."

Of course, Charlie heard none of this. He was watching Viktor approach.

_It's always gotta be Krum, wouldn't ya know?_

Charlie made introductions all around, but Viktor smiled, making it clear that he certainly had not forgotten Harry Potter's best friend from the time they had interacted at the Triwizard Tournament. He nodded politely, taking the seat beside Charlie. "How have you been?"

"Fine," Ron snorted, and making sure not to ask (as though he'd even care) the question in return.

"I did not know you were having some family come to visit," Viktor said, looking pointedly at Charlie. "I could have come at another time."

"Yeah, well, neither did I. But it appears my little brother here is having girl problems and needed some advice."

Viktor snorted in disbelief. "And he came to you?"

"Oi! I'm not completely useless in the area," Charlie retorted.

"Really? Well, this should be interesting… and amusing." Viktor mumbled the words and then looked at Ron. "So who's the girl?"

Ron felt himself stiffen. "Hermione. Hermione Granger," he said, daring Krum to say something about her… and then he felt a bit of relief. If Krum was with Charlie, then he wasn't looking to be with Hermione, or any bird for that matter, and there was no competition between them, and this was bloody great. He extended his hand toward Krum in a gesture of friendship.

"Hermione Granger," Krum said with a sigh. "Nice girl."

"Yeah, she is," Ron said, smiling too. Sure, he and Krum could be friends. This was going to work out just fine.

"…and incredibly hot," Krum finished.

"WHAT? You're with Charlie. You can't like girls too!" Ron said, slamming his fists down on the table in outrage.

"So now you get to make the rules about who a bloke can and can't like?" Charlie asked with a smirk. "But calm down, he's just trying to get you riled."

Viktor was smirking as well, and Ron considered kicking him under the table… or tripping him when he stood up to go to the loo, so he'd fall in front of everyone, or something equally embarrassing. He was still plotting ways to get Krum back when Viktor leaned across the table and patted his arm.

"Sorry, couldn't resist. We'll do what we can to help you out with your girl troubles."

And Viktor was true to his word… though how much help it actually was… well that was seriously debatable. _Seriously_.

* * *

Charlie was the first to lend his idea of assistance… in the form of porn. Lots and lots of porn.

"I borrowed this crazy little thing from one of my Muggle friends in the village. He calls it a laptop or some such. Look you open it up, click this little spot that he showed me, and voila! Man porn."

"Man porn? How is that supposed to help me?" Ron asked incredulously.

Charlie groaned and looked at Viktor. "That's for us… later," he said with a wink. Then he clicked it again, and the screen erupted with images of men and women doing all sorts of sordid things. Things which made Ron's eyes bug out and his mouth fall open. He tilted his head to one side and then another, still unsure whether he was seeing something upside down or right side up.

Viktor joined Ron in the head tilting. "I really don't think it's possible to do that from that angle," he said.

"I don't know," Charlie replied, "but she seems to be enjoying it."

"This is a bad idea," Viktor said. "I told you all along this was a bad idea. I stand by that statement."

"What do you mean 'a bad idea'?" Charlie replied. "If he's gonna learn how to do it right, what better way than to watch other people doing it? And listen to the way that blonde bird is moaning."

Charlie's idea did make sense to Ron in a practical manner. Then the pictures began to move more, and the actors began to make noises that made Ron's cheeks heat up in a blush.

"I thought only wizard pictures moved like that," Ron said despite the blush.

The man in the moving picture grabbed the woman and did something that made Ron's mouth fall open again when he'd only just got it closed from the last weird thing he'd seen. "That's your idea of helping me?" Ron cried, turning towards his older brother with an incredulous face. "Do you know what Hermione would do to me if I ever grabbed her like that or called her those names that he's saying? I'd not need to worry about having sex ever again, I can assure you. She'd cut my wanger right off, I tell you."

Viktor walked over to the laptop and shook it. The moans only got louder from the girl on the screen. "Make her stop, Charlie. She is hurting my ears." Then he looked at Ron. "I think you've had enough _help_ for one night. Maybe I can offer some better advice tomorrow."

* * *

They spent the remainder of the evening drinking Firewhisky and playing Wizard Chess which, much to Ron's chagrin, Viktor beat him at several times. Though Charlie never won a game and that was fun. It was somewhat uncomfortable to witness, but the small touches and smiles that passed between Viktor and Charlie throughout the evening also fascinated Ron. They were so at ease with one another. There was a simple pleasure of just being with the other person that made them seem perfectly right together. Neither of them seemed in any discomfort and when Charlie leaned over at one point and pressed his lips to Viktor's, it seemed the most natural thing in the world. Ron didn't even feel uncomfortable witnessing the act of affection.

"I think I'll turn in for the night," Ron said, looking pointedly at the sofa which Viktor and Charlie were sitting on, up close to one another and smiling stupidly at each other from the amount of Firewhisky they'd drunk.

They stumbled to the bedroom giddy and giggling as Ron stretched out on Charlie's sofa, feeling a bit like Viktor Krum might not be such a bad guy after all… particularly if he liked blokes… of which Hermione was not.

Ron fell asleep with a smile, content that his brother and Viktor were going to help him make things right with Hermione. Romania had definitely been the place to come for advice, even if Charlie wasn't Merlin's gift to women.

* * *

The next morning Ron was awakened by a throbbing head, a sign of far too much Firewhisky the night before. He rolled over, toppled off the sofa which was far too narrow for such rollings about, groaned and noted that the tent was quiet. He stumbled toward the kitchen where the inviting smell of coffee drew him in. There beside the coffeepot was a stack of paperbacks.

Ron picked up the first one and his eyes bugged out a bit. There on the cover was a woman, half-undressed, tits spilling over a barely there top, back arched, and her leg wrapped dramatically around a man dressed in pirate garb, with an eye patch and a wicked looking sword. There were several others, Ron noted, as he thumbed through them, all with the same pirate scenery, though the colour of the bird's hair seemed to be versatile. There was, however, always an eye patch and always a sword (once even a peg leg), and the tits were always amply spilling from the woman's top, whose head would be thrown back just waiting to be ravaged.

There was note from Viktor left with the books.

_Read these. My sister says they're exactly what women want. V._

Well, if a bird recommended them as _exactly what women want_, Ron was certainly game to try them. After all, he'd thought his first (and last) encounter with Hermione had been brilliant. He was shocked that she hadn't felt the same. And if this was what birds wanted… well, he was all ready to be educated.

…three hours later, he was staring at the books in utter dismay…

Viktor and Charlie came in to find an utterly perplexed Ron Weasley sitting on the floor of the tent with pirate bodice ripper paperbacks spread about him and a look of terror on his face.

"Ron," Charlie said tentatively, "are you okay?"

"Okay? Do I look okay?"

Viktor shook his head. "Not really. No. You're a little green. Something is wrong with the books, yes?"

"Something is wrong with the books, YES!" Ron repeated, his voice growing louder with every word.

"What?" Viktor asked with a shrug.

"What? WHAT?"

"That is what I said, yes," Viktor said these words so calmly that Ron considered lobbing a paperback right at his head and removing that self-satisfied, highly annoying smile from his face.

"What's wrong?" Ron shrieked again.

"We covered that part already," Charlie said with a sigh. "Moving on…"

"I'll tell you what's wrong!"

Charlie continued, "I really wish you would. You're hurting my ears with that high pitched wail."

"I don't have a ship, or one of these wicked swords, and do you see an eye patch on my eye?"

"Erm… no," Charlie replied. Viktor shook his head to agree that he saw none of those things… particularly the eye patch which was NOT covering Ron's eye.

"So how are these stupid books supposed to be of any help to me?" Ron wailed on, his voice near screeching in his panicked state.

Ron looked imploringly at Viktor. Charlie turned his eyes to face Viktor. Viktor simply held up his hands and shrugged. "Do not look at me in such a way. My sister said they would help. I believed her. What more do you want?"

"I want," Ron started, "a way to make Hermione happy. I want to leave here with some advice that will help me keep the girl I've worked so hard to win. And you two—" he waved his arms at Viktor and Charlie – "you two are no help at all."

Viktor and Charlie shrugged their shoulders at a loss for things to say, and Ron buried his face in his hands, no closer to a solution than when he had arrived…

* * *

But Ron was closer than he thought. The advice just didn't come from books or porn or anything so crass.

After watching Viktor and Charlie for the remainder of the weekend, those small, quiet moments when they thought no one was looking, the ease they shared with one another, the complete lack of inhibitions, Ron thought he had perhaps learned enough to go home and set things right with Hermione.

It was simply a matter of time and patience. Of learning one another so well, that there was no one else on the planet more in tune with you… and that wasn't going to come from any sort of advice. Particularly not the porn videos that Charlie had tried to heap on him, or the romance novels that Viktor had suggested.

Ron was on pins and needles waiting for the Portkey that would take him home to Grimmauld Place. Home to Hermione. He thought he finally had the answers he needed, and he certainly had not needed to come this far to find them, only to realise that they were right before him all the time.

* * *

Ron arrived at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place after dark. The house was quiet and he tapped lightly on Hermione's bedroom door. There was no answer and he eased it open.

"You awake?" he whispered into the dark.

"Just waiting on you to come home," came the reply back. "How was Romania?"

"Educational."

"How so?" The moon moved from behind a cloud and silver drifted through the window, outlining Hermione as she sat up with interest.

"Well, first of all, did you know that Muggles have moving pictures too?"

"You went all the way to Romania to discover that?" Hermione asked.

Ron sat down on the bed beside her. "Well, no. I went because—well, I thought I needed some advice. You know, on how to do things better. How to make you happy… _in bed_. How to-"

Hermione broke in, saving him (gratefully) from having to finish that sentence. "I did the same thing. I tried books and they weren't helpful at all. Can you imagine? There were no answers in books for this."

"Did yours have pirates and eye patches and women with really big—" He thought better of continuing that line of thought and gulped down the words. "—swords?"

"What?"

"Never mind," Ron continued. "It wasn't any help anyway. I think this is a learn as we go thing."

And with those words, Hermione rose up on her knees, grasped his face between her palms and kissed him, long and deep. She broke the kiss and her breath was warm on his face when she said, "I think we should start practising right now. I missed you."

"I missed you, too."

Hermione's hands slid from his face down his shoulders and began to pull free the buttons of his shirt, each one popping free as his breathing increased, his pulse raced and his heartbeat quickened to double time. He took deep breaths attempting to calm himself. He wanted this time to last longer, to be better. His cock twitched in protest at that thought, but Ron did his best to think of horrible, awful, no good things—Umbridge in a bikini—and the excitement in his pants died down quickly.

Ron wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her to him, loving the feel of her silky night shirt against his skin. He buried his face in the wild tangles of her hair and breathed in her scent—earthy and sweet and completely her own. _This is what it's all about._

He shrugged off his shirt and pressed Hermione back into the pillows, his lips pressing softly to hers, making a conscious effort not to rush things.

"I'm sorry about last time," Hermione tried to say as they broke apart, but Ron pressed a finger to her lips.

"Not now."

He pulled her nightshirt off and it slid to the floor in a whisper of silk. She lay before him in only her knickers as the moonlight gave her skin an opalescent tone. Hermione reached for his hands, bringing them to her breasts. He was content to follow her lead. He figured he couldn't go too fast, if she was leading. His fingers played her nipples into points, rolling them between his fingers, pinching lightly, loving the sighs and gasps that his ministrations brought forth from her. He leaned down, his stubble scratching at her tender skin, so that she arched her back and writhed, bucking against him, as his mouth closed over one perfectly pert nipple.

Her fingernails sunk into his bare back as his tongue made a slow circle. "Like that?" he asked. Her answer was to clasp his head more firmly to her as he began to suckle and lick.

"What now?" he whispered, and was relieved to feel her reach for his belt buckle and pull it free. He slipped easily out of his trousers and pants, and he was surprised when Hermione pushed him onto his back. "Hermione, what do you want me to—"

Her finger covered his lips in a shushing motion, as she shed her knickers and threw a leg over, straddling him. She braced her hands on his chest and began to move, frotting against him, rubbing back and forth, her head thrown back in a look that Ron thought he'd never get tired of seeing. His hands moved over her breasts, squeezing lightly, and he gasped as her hands closed over the base of his cock. Rocking against him, feeling the wet heat of her body, as she moved back and forth in a steady rhythm.

"Merlin, Hermione," Ron gasped as she rose up on her knees and guided him to her centre, sliding down upon him and continuing to rock.

"So tight," he sighed into the darkness. She reached for his hand and guided it to her clit, slowing but never ceasing her movements.

"Like this," she whispered, covering his hand with hers, showing him how to move his fingers, just where to touch her with her gasps of approval and patient fingers. She began to buck faster against him, riding his cock and he was sure he was going to come at any minute, as his fingers worked her clit, sliding and rubbing and pressing just as she showed him, working furiously in hopes of giving her the same pleasure she was giving him.

"Oh," she gasped. "Oh, yes. Like that."

Ron took every gasp Hermione made as more encouragement to please her, pressing and touching and learning her body as well as he knew his own.

"Just like that," she said, head thrown back, eyes closed, hands pressed back and clutching his thighs for balance as she rode him, and giving him free reign to touch her. With a lucky twist of his fingers, he flicked her clit just the right way and left her shuddering and trembling as she fell against him panting and sweating with a sigh of contentment.

Ron felt her muscles contract around him. He'd never felt anything so wonderful and his restraint was gone at the blissful feeling. He came hard, clutching Hermione to him, pressing up into her, his thrusts hard and fast, carrying him over the edge.

He held Hermione close and rolled them both to their sides, loving the feeling as she nestled up against him, her voice a contented purr. "So that was what they were talking about all those years," she whispered against his neck.

"Huh?"

"Nothing," she sighed, wrapping her arms around him and nuzzling her nose against his neck. "That was amazing."

"It was, wasn't it?" Ron said, contented.

"Mmm," she replied, and her breathing slowed to a steady pace as she settled in sated against him.

And Ron cuddled her close… then mentally high-fived himself, whispering, "Good work, Weasley!"

"Hmm?" Hermione mumbled.

"Nothing. Get some sleep, love."


End file.
